


Goodbye yellow brick road

by cassiavenezuela



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Family, Multi, Pining Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Protective Simon Snow, Romance, Sad Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Simon Snow's Wings and Tail, SnowBaz, Watford (Simon Snow), Witches, slowburn, they are doing their best
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2020-12-24 23:13:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21107564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassiavenezuela/pseuds/cassiavenezuela
Summary: Post Wayward Son. What happens when Simon decides it's best for everyone if he walks away from a fight? Will Baz wait for him? Will the Coven figure out what is threatening Watford? Can Penny, Baz, Agatha and Shepherd figure this one out, without the Chosen One? Will Simon find his truth - in time to offer it to Baz?





	1. Chapter 1

This story takes place after Wayward Son.

I will use different song lyrics in this story, mostly by Bernard John Taupin, who writes the lyrics for Elton John. 

BAZ

It’s been two weeks.

This boy's too young to be singing the blues

I park the car, turn off the ignition - and sit quietly to listen to the rest of the song.  
Two weeks.  
6 thousand songs, most of fall, several Keats poems and 20 packs of cigarettes. 

I should have stayed on the farm  
I should have listened to my old man

I am a bad cliche. A teenage gay vampire, bent on the road towards self-destruction, with an excelent sense of fashion and a bad habit of reading sad poetry. A broken- hearted fool, who can’t stop glancing back at every curly haired bloke that passes by - but it is never you.

I was afraid of coming home. Afraid of the consequences of what we did, afraid of my father, afraid of losing Simon. I thought if I could have Simon, everything else would be fine.

I was wrong.

The Coven was too busy with the trouble at Watford to notice three teenagers causing havoc in America; my father just asked me why I hadn’t answered Daphne’s texts in a week, and don’t I know she worries about me? I wanted to shout there are organized vampires in Las Vegas! and I will live to 300! But I did none of those things. He would probably just say I shouldn’t mention my condition out loud.

In the end, there was no trial, no one ripped my fangs out, my name wasn’t removed from the book, the Coven didn’t take my wand from me. 

I still had lost the one thing that matters.

SIMON

The day when we came home, I finally decided I was going to start living my best life. No more binge drinking. No more avoiding my therapist. No more pretending to be a hero I’m not. No more dragging Baz down with me, even if it means breaking both our hearts in the process.

BAZ

I don’t remember the flight home or the cab drive. Simon’s sternness was so unlike him that day, I knew something was off. It was like watching the seconds before a terrible car crash, when you can almost see the metal twisting in slow motion; you smell burnt rubber before the accident actually happens. 

I couldn’t tell if he was so hunched forward in his seat because his wings bothered him under his coat, or if he couldn’t sit straight because of tiredness. I remember the warmth of his fingers as he held mine, and how he determinedly refused to meet my eyes. He hopped off the cab when we reached my flat, and told Bunce “I’ll see you at home”.

Because, of course, my life is a bad, sad, predictable cliché, drizzle softly started falling around us.

“Of rain and hail-stones, lovers need not tell.”

“Snow - are you quoting Keats to me?”

He finally met my eyes.

“Baz, I don’t know how to do this. I thought I could be your terrible, normal boyfriend - but I don’t know how that is -”

This can’t be happening to me, I thought. There were very few certainties in my heart, Simon being first and foremost. I knew I wasn’t terrible, or a monster, or a freak - because someone nice actually likes me. You, Snow.

He liked me.

“You left a poetry book behind, one day. It confused me, I don’t think I understood any of it - and then there was this line... Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all. And I thought: this is exactly like Baz. Baz is always truthful, and beautiful. It was like someone had looked inside my chest and saw exactly how I felt, when not even I could explain it.”

I half choked, half laughed, and sternly thought: you are a vampire. You have just survived America, the Midwest sun, a crazy sect, and getting drunk with a bloke that wanted you to actually drink from people. You are not going to cry now.

Simon put one of his stupid, warm, lovely hands on my face and held it as if it was precious. A single traitorous tear trickled down my face, and Simon gently brushed it aside.

“I had loads of time to think during this trip, and in the plane back here. I thought I was going to find myself in America. I thought Penny could help me, or you. But you can’t tell me who I am, can you?”

“Of course I can!” I exploded. “You are Simon fucking Snow, former Chosen One by everyone!”, I shouted. He grimaced, and I continued: “But now only chosen by me! Which is apparently insufficient, mind you!”

He let out an audible sight, and continued: “But why would you choose me, Baz? Just to keep your word? I think you haven’t fully understood who I am now, or who you are - and I need to figure out what my truth is, before I offer it to you.”

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains  
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk.

I was crying in earnest now, all the ugly glory of it: I felt my eyes turning puffy. There was the indignation of a runny nose, because the humiliation had to be complete.

“When I know what my truth is - I’ll find you. And then you’ll decide whether you want it or not.”

He turned away then, and if I had a little less dignity, I’d have begged him to stay. But I didn’t; instead, I watched him slowly fading away into the rain.

SIMON

This was more difficult than facing the Humdrum. When you face villains, you never thought I am sorry, horrible creature, for killing you. But now I wanted to lay down in the middle of the road and cry. I am sorry, Baz, for breaking your heart.

“Snow!”

Baz had ran after me, and was angrily pulling at my wrist and tying something around it.

“If you lose my mother’s scarf, I’ll kill you”.

He ran back to his flat, and disappeared into the night.

PENELOPE

We hadn’t been back from America for 3 hours, and I was already packing a new bag.

“Simon! Is that you? Do you want me to pack your things for Watford?”

“I’m not going-”

I turned around, a pair of white, clean, knee-high socks in my left hand.

“Sorry, WHAT? What part of Watford is in danger-”

“Penny, I’ll just get in your way - and in Baz’s. The only reason I survived America was because both of you! I’ll stay here, keep the flat clean and figure out what to do with the rest of my Normal life, while you go and save the day.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Simon! I can’t do this on my own!”

Someone cleared their throat behind us.

“Uh… guys? Agatha just texted me. She’ll be here in an hour.”

Wait - Agatha had Shepard’s number?

“Exactly, Simon!” I shouted. “Agatha just went to get her car, she’s driving us to Watford. We need to go! Something’s not right!”

“Are you going?” Simon asked Shepard.

“Well…”

“Of course he is! I’ll need help!” I say.

Simon quietly observes me. He looks down, grabs a pair of socks and neatly rolls them into a ball.

“I don’t think I will be much help.”

“Simon! You could help us figure out what’s wrong!”

“You are the one good at that, Penny. You guys don’t need my help.” He hesitates for a second, and hands me my socks. “I am starving - do you guys want to eat something before you go?”.


	2. Chapter 2

TWO WEEKS LATER

SIMON

This is so not going as planned. 

From: cinnamon_bun@yahoo.co.uk  
To: basilton.pitch@gmail.com 

Dear Baz,

My therapist says it is good for me to write to you. She says I can tell you things I don’t have the courage to tell you in person.

I’m sorry, Baz.

I wish I didn’t remember that day - when I told you I couldn’t keep going as before. For the first time, I ran away from a fight.  
I’m not worthy of you. I know you don’t agree with me, but -  
It’s like you are a solid candidate to become the next vampire king, and I am a solid candidate to become an uber driver. A Normal uber driver.  
You are definitely better off without me.

Love,  
Simon.

I kept looking at the tiny cursor on the top of the page. Penny had left her old laptop behind when she left for Watford, and I was trying to write Baz for the millionth time. Penny kept me updated on what was going on in our old school: kids were getting sick for no reason, people were losing their magic, but it wasn’t like the Humdrum. It was more like they couldn’t find the right words to make magic bend to their will anymore. To be honest, it didn’t seem like an attack, but the Coven was planning to gather there in about a month. Penny had said they’d even summoned magicians from Scotland, Wales and Ireland.

(She didn’t seem alarmed, and I wasn’t sure if that’s because everything was under control or because she didn’t want me to be afraid for them).

I was keeping my best Normal life under control as best as I could. I was, of course, skint. I had spent the last of my money to enroll in an intensive driving course, where I spent most of my time last week. I liked how I could just turn off my brain when driving, focusing on the clutch and the pedals instead. I was daydreaming about going for an advanced driver’s course (Simon Snow, get away pilot!) when the doorbell rang. 

I skipped two steps at a time, half expecting to see a floral shirt or white knee-high socks when I opened the door, but I found an old lady instead.

She took off her massive sunglasses, and asked:

“Excuse me, dear. Do you live in flat 3B? Are you Simon Snow?”

“Uh, yeah”

I frowned. She had very flat, short blond hair which was obviously coloured, and she was wearing clothes that looked wrong for an old lady. I think maybe her trousers were made of leather?

“I know this may seem like a shock, honey. But I - I think I’m your grandmother. Can I come in?”

BAZ

I stare at the ceiling of my tent. 

I haven’t been to London since I came to Watford, two weeks ago. Me, Penny and Agatha are trying to help the Coven understand what is going on here. Shepard is also here, but I think he is just trying to understand us all. We are living in magical tents, which were placed besides the football pitch. They are much bigger on the inside than the outside, and someone ridiculously called them Emergency Rooms. 

My family didn’t know or care about America. Penny wasn’t so lucky - her mother said she was grounded and therefore not allowed to help; that lasted for a week. I don’t think anything can stop Hurricane Penny, not even Headmistress Bunce.

Penny’s mother was particularly furious about Shepard and how much he knew about us. She tried to erase his memory three different times ( I’d never seen anyone cast waiting for Godot so angrily) and when that didn’t work, she agreed to help him figure out how he is different from other Normals. I like this about Headmistress Bunce - she manages to see different shades of grey. With my father, things are either black or white.

Shepard was now sitting in the bunk bed under me, swiftly whistling and singing this annoying song I can’t get out of my head.

When are you gonna come down?  
When are you going to land?

Students are not supposed to have cellphones in Watford, but I figure that rule does not apply to me anymore. I haven’t yet answered Snow’s idiotic message, and I am not sure I know how. In how many ways can you say: stop being such an idiotic fool, you idiot! I have loved you since I thought you were going to murder me, I will love you now - even though you have no magic! I’d give up my magic for you, in fact, if only it meant that you would love me back!

I haven’t been myself since I read that e-mail, and Shepard seems to notice. He will make small talk even with the Centaur if allowed, but hasn’t spoken to me in a while. I silently jump off the bunk bed and leave the tent to go hunting, leaving his deafening heart beat behind. 

SIMON

I stare at the old lady for a full minute before realizing I am staring, and then stare at my shoes instead.

She is sitting in our living room couch, and hasn’t said a word since she came in.

“So… do you live here by yourself?”

“No, not really. I share with a friend.” More awkward silence.

“Look… I am sure you have some wrong information. I don’t think I have grandparents. I am an orphan, and-”

She was so furious when she looked at me again, I was silent.

“I have been looking for you for a long time, Simon. There are many things I can’t explain to you right now, but I’ll tell you this: You were my Lucy’s baby. You can’t know that, but you look very much like her: her hair was fairer than yours, but just as curly; you have the same freckles she had when she was your age.” She suddenly stood up, kneeled in front of me, and took my right hand in her left.

“He took both of you away from me, and it took me a while to find you - but I am never letting you go, ever again”.


	3. Chapter 3

**A FEW DAYS LATER**

SIMON

Ursula and I, we are still figuring out this  _ family  _ thing. 

Well, she’s leading and I’m following.

Back at the children’s home, I used to think a lot about family. Why had I been left behind? Does anyone miss me? Is Snow even a real name? Then, the Mage found me - he gave me magic, and a real home. Watford. I stopped thinking about family then, as I considered I had already used up all the luck allowed for orphaned children.

To think about the Mage made me feel a red wave of rage so intense, I felt my palms closing in fists. Thinking about him made me want to break vases or punch walls. Usually, this wave of rage was followed by a softer, sadder wave of gratitude. Yes, ultimately he had tried to hurt me; he’d killed Baz’ mother and deserved every punishment that he’d received, including his own demise - but without him, there would be no Penny, Agatha or Watford in my life.

There would be no Baz.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The day I first met Ursula, she made me tea. She asked about me, school, my friends. She listened attentively, offered me biscuits (even though we were in  _ my house _ ), called me darling. I ended up telling her about my wings. When I took off my Mackintosh and spread them, she exclaimed:

“Magnificent!”

“Uh - I’m not sure. The day I gained my wings, I also lost my magic. It was the day the Mage died. I haven’t been able to use magic since.”

She twitched her nose, and said: “Maybe you haven’t been looking for it in the right places, dear.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I was quiet. 

————-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_ Dear Baz, _

_ I am currently in York. Have you ever been here? The craziest thing happened a few days after we came back from America. This old lady showed up and said she was my grandmother. I decided to stay with her for a few days.  _

_ She said she will teach me how to ride a motorcycle! Wicked, right? _

_ Love,  _

_ Simon. _

Ursula is maybe in her 60s. She is much shorter than me, and very thin. The day after we first met, she showed up to the flat again, and asked if I wanted to go  _ home.  _

“I live in York, Simon. It’s a five hour drive from London. Do you want to go home with me?” She enunciated every syllable carefully. She had a very cultivated accent, like she’d been to a very fancy private school. The way she spoke, it seemed like she was in elocution class all the time. 

I hesitated for a second. She could be lying to me about York. She could be dangerous. But then again, I noticed she has the same moles in the left side of her neck as I do. I never had that; looking at someone and thinking:  _ oh, is there were the awkward shape of my thumb comes from?  _ Or  _ my jaw looks exactly like my aunt Ginna’s _ . It makes me a bit sad, everytime I notice how similar Baz is to his father. He doesn’t like me mentioning it, of course, so I don’t. I think he gets hurt because they don’t get along - but that doesn’t change the fact they have the same chin and the same hairline. 

It takes me maybe a heartbeat to look at Ursula and say: “Let’s go”.

“Get your coat then, dear. It might get cold on the motorway. Also, you’ll need to cover your wings, won’t you?”

After putting some clean clothes, my mobile and Penny’s laptop on my old Watford backpack, I follow Ursula outside. She’s casting a revealing spell, and suddenly a  BMW R1200GS appears. It’s a big, beautiful cruiser motorcycle. She opens the motorcycle’s chest, removes two helmets and gestures for me to put my backpack into it; I think it’s probably an enchanted chest, as it looks much bigger on the inside than on the outside.

“Simon”, Ursula says, fondly, “this is Sugarplum. Strap on your helmet!”

She hops on the front of Sugarplum, and waits for me to hop on behind her.

“Wicked! Did you ride here in this?” She raises an eyebrow at me, and says: “Well, it’s not like the good old days anymore, is it? No one can ride their brooms peacefully without breaking a dozen magic enforcement laws. A shame, if you ask me!”

I hold on tight to her as we speed past London’s streets towards the motorway. 

AGATHA

Watford looks like a war zone. There’s barbed wire everywhere and the football pitch was transformed into a training arena. Right now, the arena is mostly deserted. The school feels dead: I’d never realized a place is as lively as the people in it. I don’t even like Watford - but it had never been this creepy. Before going to the USA, I’d be rolling my eyes at this and saying how mages are stark mad.

I’m more careful to call anyone mad now. After almost dying in the desert, I understand the practical usefulness of preparing for battle: I just wish mages weren’t, like, so  _ dramatic _ all the time. Do we really need to call the tents  _ Emergency bloody Rooms _ ? Shockingly, we could just call them  _ tents _ . 

Enchanted targets (again, wtf mages!) were placed around the arena. They don’t burn and are very hard to destroy, but they do go green if you manage to hit them with magic that would be powerful enough to damage an enemy. I raise my wand, point to the closest target and murmur: 

“ _ Baby, light my fire _ .” A jolt of red sparks flows out of my wand, more like fireworks than serious attack. The dummy target continues a filthy white.

“Try adding an adverb!” Someone shouts from the stands.

I stand a little straighter, self-conscious now that I know Baz is watching me. I know, it’s ridiculous to have a crush on him, but I guess the heart wants what it wants, right? I try to move my wrists as gracefully as possible, almost as if I was going for fifth position, and shout: “ _ Baby, kindly light my fire _ !”

This time, the red sparks that flow out of my wand look much more threatening - they hit the dummy target in the chest, and they create a perfectly round green circle.

I hear slow clapping from the stands. I carefully come closer to Baz, reach for something in my pocket, and offer him a fag.

“Fancy one?” He silently picks a cigarette up, puts it between his lips, and says: “Well done, Wellbelove.”

While putting my wand back in my purse, I whisper “ _ Fire burn and cauldron bubble _ .” He gives me a sad smile, and lights his own fag. I always thought Baz emanated an aura of self-assuredness and overall hotness that made me go a little weak in the knees, but now he only emanates sadness.

I feel like I could slap Simon. 

BAZ

While laying in bed, I check my phone for the hundredth time. Simon hasn’t emailed in two days, and I haven’t answered yet. I’m not sure what to say, so I prefer to stay silent. I’m worried about this lady that has shown up in his doorstep; Simon has never heard from his family. I try to think that Simon is a grown young man that has killed different demons, vampires and other magical creatures; he can take an old lady.

Thinking about Simon makes another stupid Elton John song play in my head.

_ And it seems to me you lived your life _

_ Like a candle in the wind _

This is almost worse than all those nights I started at him sleeping. Then, I was waiting for an impossible miracle: for Simon to realize he loved me too. Now, I have to wait for Simon to understand  _ we _ are worth fighting for. I can’t do anything but wait, can I?

The joke is on you, dearest Simon: you may have wings, but I have nothing if not time. 

The Coven hasn’t yet made any discovery of what was making the students in Watford ill. Inexplicably, I think we are still considered  _ children.  _ I’m not sure how they expect us to contribute to the solving of this conundrum if they won’t tell us what’s going on. Even my father has come from Oxford - he was in a meeting with Headmistress Bunce the whole day yesterday. 

I try to ignore the bad feeling in my stomach as I lay in bed and try to sleep. 


	4. Chapter 4

**A few days later**

SIMON

Ursula lives in a small red brick cottage in the middle of Knapton, a village just outside of York. I think the inside of her house is enchanted, just like the chest in her motorcycle. On the outside, it looks shabby, old and small; but the inside is spacious and modern. I’ve been sleeping in the room next to hers, and when she told it’d belonged to my mother, my head spun with a  _ thousand  _ questions. Eventually, she explained my mum’s name was Lucy, that she passed away when I was born, that she also attended Watford, she even showed me a picture. Lucy had fairer and straighter hair than mine, but I think I might have her nose. Ursula didn’t mention my father.

I didn’t ask.

I figured she’d tell me when the time was right.

I think I’ve spoken more here than the whole of last month. Every time we sit together to have tea or dinner, she asks me so many questions, so I ended up telling her about America, and Penny, Shepard, Agatha.

About Baz.

“Dear, is he your boyfriend?”

I felt myself blushing. “Uh… what makes you ask that?”

“Well, you’ve been describing the exact shade of his eyes for the past 10 minutes. You have already used the words  _ slate, graphite,  _ and  _ porpoise. _ ”

Can ears blush?

“In fact, you’ve spent more words to describe his eyes than to talk about what exactly you were doing in America.”

They definitely can. Can they spontaneously catch fire? I’m just asking for a friend.

“I think we used to be. I’m not the best of boyfriends, to tell you the truth. I don’t know what I am doing half the time.”

She poured me some more tea and said: “And do any of us really know, dear?”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day, I woke up to the sound of sparring. My wings flapped uncontrollably, dropping the glass on my nightstand on the floor, which shattered and cut my left foot. My heart thundered inside my rib cage, telling me something was wrong. I clumsily reached for my trousers and quickly looked around the bedroom to find something I could use as a weapon and decided on the bedside lamp. It didn’t look very scary: it had dozens of dangly pink capiz shells.

I rushed downstairs to discover the living room in disarray: the sofa and chairs had been pushed against the walls, and Ursula was fighting a tall, young man. They were wearing white clothes and fencing masks. 

“Simon!” Ursula turned around from her foe and took off her mask. “Come meet Omesh!”

The tall man also removed his mask. He had a very black triangular beard and a blue turban.

“ _ Sat Sri Akal,  _ master Simon. Maybe you’d like to lower your… lamp?”

BAZ

They looked like a mirage, a fantasy, a hallucination. The first armoured ridder that approached us looking like a medieval knight made Penny burst out laughing. He shouted for a few minutes outside of Watford gates, demanding to speak to the leader of the Coven. Headmistress Bunce and a few others went down to meet him (including me, Penny and Shepard). His horse was white, his boots shining and brown. I’d never seen armour like this outside a museum. In the museums, armour always looked beautiful, elaborate, fancy. Like something out of a fairy tale, where only honourable people would be able to wear it.

He didn’t look very honourable. His helmet had a dark T shape, where I assumed his face should be. No part of his skin was visible. He looked inhuman, machine-like. Goosebumps raised the hair in my arms. 

“Behold, heretics!”

This was the unfortunate moment Bunce burst out laughing. Shepard elbowed her hard on the shoulder; none of the others seemed to have heard her. They were all staring intently into the stranger. It was so quiet, you could have heard a pin falling.

“Repent, heretics! Repent, and be purified!” 

“Who are you?” Headmistress Bunce shouted. She pointed her wand at the stranger.

“Stand back, you feral beast! We are the Harolds of truth, and we shall conquer you!”

She cast a simple spell that should have made the man (or creature?) fall from his horse; it seemed to bounce back from his armour and hit her straight in the chest. More than anything, she was surprised, caught off guard - this shouldn’t happen, it’s very unusual for spells to be reflected like this, especially from experienced and strong magicians. Headmistress fell sitting down in the grass, it seemed like all the air had been sucked out of her.

No one moved or talked. 

SIMON

Ursula might be the coolest old lady ever. Omesh is her fencing tutor. They showed me some moves, and I was impressed to observe she is quick for someone that must be at least 60 years old. She was practicing with an elegant thin silver foil that had a straight red grip.

“Would you like to try some fencing, Simon?”

How do you explain to your new-found gran that you used to command the Sword of Mages until very recently? And you have already used it to kill goblins, basilisks, griffins, even a chimera once (without success)? This was yet another thing I wished to explain but did not seem to find the words, so I simply nodded. Omesh told me to put on a white robe and mask and choose a sword. I picked one that looked more robust and slightly longer than the one Ursula was using and positioned myself trying to copy Omesh’s elegant posture. He was holding his sword with his right hand, while his left was folded behind his back. I am sure I did not look that mighty or tall. I tried to fold my wings as closely as possible to my back, making them small.

When Omesh decided I seemed ready, he bent his legs quite gracefully. It reminded me of a Christmas I spent in Agatha’s house when she tried to teach me about ballet positions. You’d think a very tall bearded man trying to dance ballet would seem ridiculous or funny, but Omesh seemed dignified and fierce. Like he could slash me in half, but gracefully.

“Do you know the rules of fencing, Simon? You can’t allow me to touch you with the tip of my sword. We’re going to start this slow, ok?”

He moved sideways in my direction and touched me lightly right in the chest with his sword, which bent slightly. “Like this!”

“Ok, I think I got it.” The second time he came at me, I was ready and moved backwards. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t as dignified, but he didn’t manage to hit me again. I parried one of his attacks, moved backwards and tried to hit the hilt of his sword.

“Simon, you’re not really a beginner at this, are you?”


	5. Chapter 5

_ You know that it would be untrue _

_ You know that I would be a liar _

_ If I was to say to you _

_ Girl, we couldn't get much higher _

_ [The Doors - Light my fire] _

BAZ

After that day, it never stopped raining in Watford. Sometimes it was freezing, soft drizzle; sometimes the downpour got so thick, you could barely see what was happening two meters away from you. The mood around the school was, as one can imagine, charming. Everyone’s skin acquired this greyish tinge, and all eyes always seemed to be downcast. I almost felt a sense of communion, as I didn’t seem to be the only broken-hearted idiot around. No one else came to the gate. 

Don’t even get me started on how depressing it was to go hunting in the woods in the middle of the pouring rain. Even the deer seemed doomed. 

The only person who still seemed to carry her head high was Bunce. I’d always see her hurrying from one place to the next, a book under her arm; fire in her gaze burning so bright, it almost hurt to look her in the eye. Before America, maybe I’d have been curious to what she was up to, but right now, I quite frankly didn’t give a damn.

PENELOPE

Merlin and Morgana, this was the oldest trick in the book! It hit me while I was trying to discover something about the bloody  _ Heralds of Truth _ in the library. What is the most basic war tactic, specially if you have some mad medieval inspiration? Despair! If you are trying to siege a castle (and wasn’t Watford exactly that?), wouldn’t you try to make everyone in it feel their imminent demise as something certain? Wouldn’t you try to poison the air with so much hopelessness, people inside the castle simple ceased to wish for survival?

I hurried outside the library. I needed to find Baz, Agatha and Shepard. We needed to regroup and think about tactics! We needed to start fighting back!

However, something had already attracted most people to the great lawn - I didn’t even need to look hard to find everyone I was looking for. It seemed like it was raining rocks! I could see the shadow of a distant trebuchet (honestly, this medieval obsession is getting scary!), which was throwing hundreds of paper wrapped rocks at Watford. Agatha was the first one to get a rock and unwrap the paper around it. As she looked at it, her face was drained of all colour, and she gasped for air.

“What is it, Agatha? Let me see!”

She silently handed the paper to me. It was a horrifying image of a woman, naked to the waist, her hands bound behind her back - being burned alive. Even though the drawing was black and white and looked quite old, you could distinctly see the pain in her eyes. 

AGATHA

I  _ knew _ it.

We’re all going to die.

We’re going to die because we are fucking magic.

This is not fair! I did not choose to be magic! Every time I try to run away from it, the universe just slaps me in the face harder. “There’s no getting away from being punished because you are magic, sweety”, a secret force in the cosmos seems to be saying.

Well, guess what,  _ bitch _ ?

Today is the day I decide to slap back. 

BAZ

“Agatha! Stop!”

Agatha was quickly walking towards the gates. She seemed weirdly determined - as if she wanted to destroy something in her path. It wasn’t difficult for me to catch up. Eventually, she started running, and I ran after her. I tried taking her arm, but she suddenly stopped, pointed her wand at me, and said fiercely: “Basilton, if you are not going to help, do NOT stand in my way!”

I didn’t know how to calm her down, how to comfort her. She was angry and desperate - I think we all were. I didn’t know what to say to make this situation better and I didn’t think “I don’t want to die either” was going to have any effect. I was afraid she might hurt herself, but on the split second I hesitated, she started running towards the gates, her wand gracefully positioned in her raised right arm, a spell ready in her lips: “ _ Baby, kindly light my bloody fire! _ ”

She was pointing her wand to the huge trebuchet the Heralds of Truth had assembled in front of Watford gates. At first, I thought she was too far away to be able to make this spell work. However, the angle of her hips and shoulders seemed to be just right for this one spell, because the red fireworks exploded, angry and beautiful from the tip of her wand - hitting the distant machine and making it go up in flames. We could see people running around on their side, disoriented. They didn’t have any sand or water to throw on the flammes, so the only thing they could do was watch them consume their terrible war machine. We were too far away to hear them, but we could see them frantically running around, not knowing what to do.

AGATHA

Is this what getting high feel like? I’ve never felt this good, ever. 

Is this how Penny feels all the time? Powerful and dangerous? I ran the few steps that separated me from the gates, held them tightly and shouted: “There’s more where that came from,  _ motherfuckers _ ! We are not going down without a fight!”

When I was a child, I remember watching a documentary about the Salem witch trials. I had nightmares about it for years: all these angry old men tying me to a cross-shaped piece of wood and setting me on fire. They kept chanting  _ burn the witch _ ,  _ burn the witch _ . A blurb of laughter rose in my throat and I laughed, like a maniac.

Let’s see who is going to burn who.

“ _ Keep the wolf from the door! _ ” 

I looked around and saw that Penny’s mum had run after us. She was enchanting the gates to keep them firmly locked. 

“Miss Wellbelove! Mr. Pitch! Let’s go back to the Emergency Rooms and assess this situation!” 


End file.
